Dark Heir
by Lady Aramis
Summary: What happens when Voldemort actually listens to Snape and uses Harry to his own advantage? How will Dumbledore react when he figures out who the young Harish Blake is? And what will Voldemort do when he finds himself beginning to care for his young 'son? Evil!Harry & Annoying!Dumbledore
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to anyone in my family. *sob***

** —Also, the italicized stuff at the beginning is quoted from Chapter 17 of the Deathly Hallows. :P Cheers!**

**IMPORTANT NOTE: READ!**

**I know you guys are probably thinking "Wow! Two new stories in as many days!" but this isn't actually mine. Here I am, writing away, and my little sister and dear friend approach me at the same time, both asking if they could post their stories on my account! Naturally I said yes; they both are pretty good writers and I'm always willing to help an author in need. :)**

**My friend Athos isn't done with her first chapter yet AND she spent her Christmas out of town, so I likely won't be posting her new story until sometime in January. My sister, on the other hand, does have her first chappie done, and is currently sitting here waiting impatiently for me to post it. Please be gentle****—she is only a kid, and this IS her first story.**

******Anyway, without further ado—**

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**Dark Heir**

**By Liechtenstein**

**Chapter one: The Burden**

_The night wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square, and the shop windows covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe…_

_And he was gliding along, that sense of purpose and power and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions… Not anger…that was for weaker souls than he…but triumph, yes… He had waited for this, he had hoped for it…_

…_along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet… And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and stared over it…_

_They had not drawn the curtains' he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of coloured smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pyjamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist…_

_A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning…_

_The gate creaked as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open._

_He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand…_

"_Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

_Hold him off, without a wand in his hand! … He laughed before casting the curse…_

"_Avada Kedavra!"The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut..._

"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —"_

"_This is my last warning —"_

"_Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please — I'll do anything —"_

"_Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

_He could force her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all…_

_The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing —_

_He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage —_

He looked down at the whimpering boy. So this was the child who had the power to defeat him?

Brilliant, tear-filled green eyes met icy blue ones tinged with scarlet, "_Avada_—"

The pale-skinned man paused, lowering his wand as he remembered a conversation he had had with Severus, his spy, only a few days before.

"_My Lord," Severus started, "forgive me, but I believe that the Potter boy could be useful to you."_

"_Really, Severus?" he had whispered softly, "Are you sure you're not just trying to prevent an old friend's son from being killed?"_

"_My lord — the prophecy — it only speaks of one with the power to vanquish you. Not that he actually __will__ vanquish you — this power could prove to be useful to you."_

"_Perhaps. I will think on it," the Dark Lord had whispered, gazing at the young Death Eater pensively. "Now leave me. I tire of your company."_

_Severus bowed low to the ground and backed away on his knees._

Yes. Now that he actually thought about it those words did make sense. It was quite likely that the child might grow up to be a powerful _aid_ to him—after all, the prophecy which Severus had overheard did not mention that the child would vanquish the Dark Lord, only that it would have the power to do so. It would be prudent to have the child raised in such a way that it would never even consider vanquishing him. Yes, that was a good plan.

The man was uncertain if he should raise the boy himself, though. He couldn't stand small children. He had never had any patience for the little ones at the orphanage.

Making up his mind, the Dark Lord nodded decisively. He thought furiously. It would do no good to allow Dumbledore to know that Voldemort had taken the prophecy child. The old coot would likely arrange an ill-conceived 'rescue' attempt to regain his infant saviour. No, the best thing to do would be to make the whole world believe Harry Potter was dead, and—Voldemort had sudden inspiration—him as well.

He would be able to lull the whole world into a false sense of security as he raised this child of prophecy to be his own heir. Once the boy had started Hogwarts he could resume his fight.

Voldemort cast a spell right in front of the door which created a scorch mark and did the same right in front of Harry's crib. Then he rubbed his wand in conjured ashes and left it there. The old fool would assume that both he and the boy had perished from a spell gone awry.

He pulled a spare wand out of a holster on his thigh and picked up the boy. The child stopped crying, startled, but stared at the pale man with wide eyes.

Voldemort then disapparated with the boy to a dark, lonely hill with an old house sitting atop it. The man calmly walked around the side of the grand old mansion, gazing at Slytherin Manor as he went. The child's head turned this way and that as it took in its new surroundings.

Voldemort had discovered this place in his twenties after a great deal of research and a ridiculous amount of ward-breaking. After claiming the decrepit property as his own, the young man had re-warded the Manor and its grounds to prevent intruders. It was even better warded than the infamous Black Townhouse, and young Tom Riddle was quite glad to have a home that was entirely his own.

After the war had started, the young Dark Lord had begun using this place as his base of operations, and had given a select few Inner Circle followers permanent access to the location—among them being Lucius Malfoy, his sister-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange, and the Dark Lord's young protégé Barty Crouch.

He went around back and unlocked the door. Voldemort then entered his study, a dark and practical room filled with books and a large oaken desk, and sat behind the desk there. He pulled out a piece of parchment and began to write. After a few minutes of writing he sealed the missive and handed it to an owl.

As the owl was flying out the window, Voldemort turned back towards the desk and began to think. He had sent a letter to Lucius telling him of his location and that he required his service. The Dark Lord would have to get some of his death eaters to infiltrate the ministry. It could be useful having influence over the Minister of Magic. He and the boy would also need aliases.

Suddenly Lucius apparated into his study. "You sent for me, my lord?" Lucius asked.

"Yes, Lucius," he replied, "I have decided that the Potter boy could be useful to me. I will need a few house elves to care for the boy. Also, in a few hours you will likely begin hearing reports of my death. If any inquiries are made, you will claim that you had no involvement in any Death Eater activities; if they give you any trouble, plead the Imperius curse and pull out some gold. I will give you compensation for any 'fees' necessary to clear your name."

He paused as Lucius took all this in, and then continued, "I also want you to bring Bellatrix here before she learns of my 'demise' and does something foolish. She will be assigned care of the child over your house-elves."

"Anything you need, my lord." Lucius said bowing his head slightly, "Rinkle! Dobby!" he shouted.

Two house elves apparated to the side of their master. One was ruddy and very old. The other was small and bouncy. He looked like he was very young.

"You two will go with the Dark Lord," Lucius commanded them, "You will do everything he says. Rinkle, Dobby, you now belong to the Dark Lord." They nodded and looked to Voldemort.

"Rinkle, you will be in charge of cooking our meals and all of the other house work," the old one nodded its head vigorously, "Dobby, you will be in charge of taking care of the boy. Give him whatever he wants or needs. You are under his command too," He handed the boy to Dobby, "Now go."

"You may leave as well, Lucius. I want Bellatrix here as soon as possible, remember that."

_DOBBY—DOBBY_

Dobby was so happy. He had just started serving the Malfoys when Master had called him. Next thing he knew he was serving the Dark Lord and looking after the boy. A child! What every house elf dreams of.

_DOBBY—DOBBY_

After Lucius had left Slytherin Manor, Voldemort began brewing a Blood Adoption potion and an Everlasting Spell potion. He would use the Blood Adoption potion to make the child biologically his own son, adding to James Potter's genetics to make the boy look like less of a Potter.

The Everlasting Spell potion was more complex. It would make any potion drunk or any spell cast on its consumer permanent and unreversable. The potion lasted for exactly one hour after being drunk, so he had to act quickly.

He pulled out a knife and prodded his finger, drawing blood. He let one drop fall into the cauldron of Blood Adoption potion before magically sealing up the cut. The potion turned scarlet, signalling its completion. The Everlasting Spell potion had already been finished and a portion poured into a vial, so the Dark Lord took a vial of the Blood Adoption potion as well and went to the nursery.

Harry was sitting on the floor playing with toys when Voldemort entered. "Dobby, make the boy drink this," he commanded the house elf, holding out the vial of Everlasting Spell.

"Yes, master!" Dobby squeaked immediately. The little elf then coaxed Harry into drinking it. Immediately after, Voldemort set to work.

He had Harry drink the Blood Adoption potion next. The child's hair lightened from black to a brown similar to Voldemort's own and his emerald eyes became a very pale shade of green. Voldemort then aged Harry by two years. The boy instantly grew slightly and lost a bit of his infant chubbiness. After the Everlasting Spell potion wore off Harry Potter had become three-year-old Harish Blake.

Voldemort had seen the newspaper earlier: _"—the most awful thing he has ever done, killing an infant boy. Only luck could have allowed for You-Know-Who to be killed as well."_ This disguise would prevent anyone from mistaking his heir for Harry Potter.

Eventually over the next year, Harish stopped asking about his parents. Later, since he was forbidden to call Voldemort uncle, the boy began to call him something else. Something Voldemort still couldn't get used to.

Father.

Harish grew older under the care of Dobby and Bellatrix Lestrange and years flew by while Voldemort tutored Harish to prepare for Hogwarts.

As the boy grew older, Voldemort's features began to become prominent in the boy's face because of the Blood Adoption potion; it officially made him Voldemort's son, even affecting his appearance. No one would ever suspect him of being James Potter's son—cousin, maybe, but then, everyone in the pureblood world was a cousin of some sort. The Dark Lord's plan was safe.

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**Hi! This is Liechtenstein! I thought that this would be a pretty interesting story (and it is). I've already written seven chapters and I've gotten past Christmas so you can be guaranteed that I will finish all of it. I even have plans for the next years!**

**SO, in case you're wondering why Aramis calls me Liechtenstein, well I guess it's because I look kind of like her and I absolutely ADORE my dear Beth. Hehehe!**

**You must review! TTFN! :p**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter...I do not own Lord Voldies...*sigh*... I know! I do own Harish Blake! He is a character of my own making and no one can take that away from me! *runs away clutching Harish Blake like a teddy bear***

**Okay, here's the new chappie of Dark Heir. I'm sure you will find it satisfying. *smirks* Thanks for the reviews! Pleeeaase keep it up! The reviews really do help me!**

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**Chapter two: Enter Isis: Snake-tactula!**

The Dark Lord sat on his bed yet again, staring out the window, and thinking. Harish's eleventh birthday was tomorrow. Don't get him wrong, he didn't care for the boy—he _didn't_—and he was sure that he never would. But coming up with the child's birthday (August 15th) would entitle you to know it.

The boy still needed his school supplies and he had been planning for the past few weeks to take him tomorrow for a 'birthday present'. Of course technically he was just getting the boy his supplies _on_ his birthday, not _fo_r his birthday. He absolutely did _not_ care for the boy.

As he was thinking about these things, he heard a knock on the door. Harish's pale face appeared beside the slightly open door, "Father, tomorrow's my birthday," Voldemort rolled his eyes. How could he not know that? "And I was just thinking about school. Are my school things coming by mail?"

He didn't answer the boy at this, but turned and looked out the window.

"I thought that maybe— this year— maybe you might take me somewhere for my birthday." At seeing Voldemort still not respond, Harish started to feel a little annoyed, "Instead of just staring out of your window, like you do _all_ _the_ _time_," he added. Voldemort's eyes flashed and Harish, knowing the temper his father sometimes had, took a step back.

"I'm sorry—" he started, "I didn't—"

"No, you're right," Voldemort whispered quietly, standing up, "I haven't gone out of this house for some time… You may go back to your room now." He ended with a stern tone.

"But—

"_Now!_" he hissed and the boy jumped and ran out of the room.

_VOLDIE-HATES-AFFECTION—AFFECTION-HATES-VOLDIE_

Harish sighed and lay back on his bed. He couldn't help but feel miserable. He had a nice room, large house, expensive clothing, and nearly always got what he wanted. The only thing was that his father fully ignored him. They used to at least talk, during his lessons for instance. Now this past year Father has been mostly avoiding him and hiding out in his room. He wanted more attention.

He really did love his father. He remembered when he was five; he would go around saying that he wanted to be his father when he grew up. That was also when he had figured out he was a Parseltongue. Ever since then, all he and his father spoke at home was the snake language. Then, of course, there was Nagini, his father's giant snake. He had loved having conversations with the snake. She seemed really intelligent. She would also tell him stories about his father. She had even told him of his father's school days, including the whole incident with the Chamber of Secrets.

Harish giggled. He couldn't believe that his father didn't think that Harish knew what his job was. Harish had known that his father was Lord Voldemort for nearly as long as he could remember. It had startled the Dark Lord greatly when he discovered that his son was in fact fully aware of his 'job' as a terrorist-style revolutionary.

He didn't really mind, though. He loved his dad and thought he was awesome. Everyone should worship the ground the Dark Lord treads on, in his opinion. His father was the coolest person in the history of the wizarding world since Salazar Slytherin and Merlin.

Harish hated his father's opponent Dumbledore, on the other hand, with a fiery passion. He knew that Dumbledore was the reason the two had been forced to hide in Slytherin Manor since Harish was a toddler, and Harish was also aware of how much his father resented the confinement. Harish didn't blame him—he hated being locked up in one place too, and it was all Albus Dumbledore's fault.

Harish still wasn't sure whether Father was actually planning to take him to Diagon Alley or not. If only he knew Legilimency. Then he might be able to tell what his father was thinking. He wondered what had caused his father to close up his shell like that. He guessed that he would never know, and would have to wait to see if they were going to Diagon Alley tomorrow. He hated waiting almost as much as he hated being stuck in this empty manor.

_HARISH-WANTS-ATTENTION—YUM-YUM-YUM_

Voldemort entered Harish's room. "Come on, we are going to Diagon Alley," he said. Strangely enough, he felt satisfied when he saw the boy's sullen face perk up with excitement.

Harish was almost immediately at his side.

"Now before we leave," Voldemort said as Harish trotted happily up to him, "I need to tell you to not speak anything other than English while we're at Diagon Alley. No Parseltongue."

"Why?" Harish asked.

"Most people believe that Parseltongue is a dark talent. Britain especially insists that being a Parselmouth is a sign of a dark wizard. While I will admit that some of that prejudice was enhanced by my own formidable reputation, most of it was already present in the society before their war with me. In fact, Salazar Slytherin was greatly villianized by historians due to this very same talent. You will often find, my son, that wizard as a whole are idiotic sheep."

"Oh," Harish said.

"Okay now, we will be apparating there."

Harish nodded, preparing himself for the not so pleasant sensation that came with apparating. Then he gripped Voldemort's wrist and they disapparated.

They reappeared in the middle of the Alley and Harish stood in amazement. The place was so…full! It was loud and overwhelming as he watched the people bustle back and forth in the shops. Owls were screeching, cats were meowing, and toads were croaking.

He smelled wonderful smells of chocolates as they passed a candy store. There two witches haggling over some eels eyes. It was all so very different to what he was used to. He had a huge, silent manor all to himself and his father. Only occasionally did he go over to the Malfoy manor and play with Draco while their fathers talked, but that wasn't all that different. Even playing Quidditch with Draco up with all of the chattering birds had been more tame than this Alley.

Harish was herded into Gringotts so that they could use the boy's inherited fortune on their shopping trip. His father intended to teach him how to manage finances using the Potter money. When Harish had asked how he even had access to the Potter vaults an answer had not been forthcoming. His father had given him that tight-lipped glare he had whenever he did not wish to divulge information. Harish wasn't bothered. He would weasel the facts out of him eventually.

Voldemort walked up to the counter. He sneered down at one of the goblins and said, "We are here to open the Potter trust vault."

The goblin peered over the desk at them. "I'm afraid that the Potter vault is closed unless someone with Potter magic claims it," he said, sneering back at the man.

Voldemort scowled, "You can have him tested if you want."

Harish, who had been watching the interaction intently, noticed that neither his father nor the goblin were very happy. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Why did his father want the Potter vault specifically? He grinned internally. This promised to be a very diverting mystery.

"Very well," the goblin said as another one walked up. "Griphook will take you to a private room to have the boy tested."

The two of them followed Griphook to a private room. Once there, the goblin took out a piece of parchment labelled, 'Potter' and had Harish put his hand to it. The paper glowed gold before writing scrawled across the page. Harish leaned forward and read the writing. It was just a list of the Potter accounts that were available to him (there weren't many) and how much stuff they had in them. At the bottom of the page, it said 'Harish Anata Blake: Potter Heir' and nothing else.

The goblin regarded the parchment with an odd look on its face.

"What did that mean?" his father asked Griphook.

"The parchment will turn blue if they have a relation to the Potters by marriage, red if by blood, and gold if only by magic. The parchment only rarely turns gold. In fact, I have never actually seen this arrangement occur before—I only knew it was possible due to prior record. This means that somehow, Harish Anata Blake is heir to the Potter trust vault, but he is not related to any Potter by blood."

"Ah," Voldemort said sounding confused, but Harish knew that look. He could tell that the explanation had made perfect sense to the man. "We would like to draw some gold out of the vault if you please."

Soon, Harish was trotting out of the bank behind his father, his money bag jingling merrily with the sound of several new galleons, sickles, and quite a few knuts.

Next, they went to Madam Malkin's Harish bought green and black robes. Then, they headed over to Flourish and Blotts and Harish convinced his father to buy him a book on jinxes.

After Flourish and Blotts, they headed to Apothecary. Voldemort bought Harish the essentials such as a cauldron and potion supplies. Then they moved on to Ollivander's. Finally. This was what Harish had been waiting for since he had been old enough to consider the idea.

Somewhere in the distance a bell tinkled as they stepped inside. "Good afternoon," said a soft voice somewhere.

"Hello," Harish said.

"Ah, but who are you?"

"Harish Blake," he replied.

"Hmm, Which is your wand arm?" Ollivander asked as he pulled out a measuring tape to begin to measure Harish for a wand.

"My right."

Voldemort started to edge out of the shop. He knew that Ollivander would recognize his second wand. The one that he nearly had to blackmail him to make. No doubt Ollivander would want to see his wand if he noticed him. He quietly opened the door and squeezed out into the fresh air.

_OLLIVANDER-LIKES-WANDS—THEY-HAVE-BRAINS_

Harish watched the old man as he measured him.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Blake. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon heartstrings. No two Ollivander wands are the same."

Harish looked down at the tape measure and realized it was measuring his nostrils on its own. Ollivander was flitting through the wands, no doubt trying to find him a suitable wand.

"That will do," Ollivander said, and the tape measure crumpled in a heap on the floor.

He gave Harish wand after wand only to have them grabbed right out of his hand before he could wave it. The pile of tried wands grew higher and, to Harish's astonishment, so did Ollivander's mood.

"Tricky customer, eh? No doubt, we'll find the right match for you somewhere— I wonder— yes, why not— holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

As Harish took the wand, he suddenly felt a warmth in his fingers. He waved the wand over his head and green sparks flew out, dancing on the walls. "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed. Very good. Curious…" he muttered while wrapping up the wand and placing it back in its case.

"What's curious?" Harish asked earnestly.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Blake. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious that this wand should be destined to you when its brother—why, its brother belonged to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Why is that, sir?" Harish asked.

Ollivander pinned the boy with a steely gaze. "I have a very long memory, young man, for people as well as wands. I recognized your father sneaking out of my shop—and despite the changes he has made to his appearance I know exactly who he is."

At Harish's abruptly defensive stance, the elderly man smiled gently. "Do not worry, Mr Blake. I am, and have always been, completely neutral. No one dares to aggravate a wand-maker, particularly one of my calibre. Your father's secret is safe with me. I said that it was curious for this wand to choose you because it is most unusual for a child to have a brother wand to his own parent. I find that curious because such a choice shows great devotion to your father—and a great similarity."

Harish flushed a bit with pride. Somehow hearing that he was very similar to his father from this strange old man seemed quite significant. But Ollivander wasn't done yet.

"The wand chooses the wizard, remember…" he whispered. "I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Blake. After all, your father did great things—terrible, yes, but great. Your father is one of the most incredible wizards of his age…I should expect no less from his son."

Harish nodded, still a bit overwhelmed, and paid Ollivander seven galleons for his wand. As he turned to the front of the shop, he saw his father waiting for him outside with an eager expression on his face; very odd.

"Holly and phoenix feather," he announced proudly. His father reached out his hand and Harish handed it to him.

Voldemort felt something odd in his fingers and he knew that this wand was his wand's brother. He often wished he had his old yew wand back. The second wand he had convinced Ollivander to make him after his first was confiscated by the ministry as 'proof' of his demise worked quite well, but it just didn't have the familiarity his old wand did.

Harish waited for the Dark Lord to hand his wand back, and when he did, his father asked, "Would you like to go look at some snakes?" The blood adoption had given Harish some of Voldemort's gifts, including being a parselmouth.

Voldemort remembered when he had first figured out that the boy could Speak. Harish had been out in garden playing, when a little garden snake slithered in front of the boy. Harish had been unfazed and merely picked up the little snake and started talking to it. It had then become Harish's first pet snake.

"Sure," Harish replied, but then added uncertainly, "but aren't we only allowed an owl, cat, or toad?"

"Not if they don't know it's there," Father replied with a devious expression.

Harish smirked at that answer. They went into Magical Menagerie and walked over to some of the exotic and magical snakes. "What kind of snake is that?" Harish asked his father, pointing to a blue snake. It had wings that were feathered at the ends.

"That is a Quetzalcoatl," he replied.

"Oh," Harish turned back towards the Quetzalcoatl, _"What's your name?"_ he asked it in Parseltongue.

"_Isis"_ she replied.

"_Cool! Do you want to come with me?"_

"_Yes. It gets boring in this store and it's not every day I meet a Speaker."_

"I would like her, Father," he told him.

"We will take the Quetzalcoatl," Voldemort told the shopkeeper who opened the terrarium.

Harish reached his hand down to let Isis fly up his arm and onto his shoulder. "I wouldn't do that if I were you sir. He has a nasty temper."

"I have a way with animals," Harish replied, "Oh, and by the way, Isis is a she, not a he." The storekeeper gaped at him in astonishment as Isis slithered up his arm and curled about his shoulders. The two then walked out of the shop with their newest scaled addition and disapparated home.

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**Don't forget! Review! I _am_ a Slytherin and I will nag you to death if you don't. Also some questions for today... What house do you think Harish will be in? What kind of friends will he make? What did that shopkeeper think about after they left...Some of these you will never know but I had to list at least three questions. *insert smi****ley face* Bye Bye! I shall nag you to review soon enough!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Devious Sortings and Worried Old Men**

The rest of the month Harish spent reading his text books, and as soon as he finished them he went perusing through the great Slytherin library for something else to keep him occupied. He often found himself having to find something to keep him busy so that he wouldn't get bored, doing activities such as reading or Quidditch.

Finally the time to get ready for school arrived. He had to pack his trunk (or order Dobby to do so) and make sure that he had bought all of the school supplies he would need. The night before September 1st he got Dobby to set his trunk by the door so that he would be ready to leave first thing in the morning. When morning arrived he almost literally pushed his father out the door to King's Cross Station.

They arrived at 10:45 and his father told Harish how to get to the platform. "So you just run straight at the wall?" Harish asked.

"Yes," Voldemort replied, "Come on then. You go first."

Harish nodded and backed up his trolley. He breathed out and ran as fast as he could. When he found that he had made no contact with the wall, he opened his eyes to see a brilliant red engine. His father had come up next to him.

"Now, be sure not to get into too much trouble."

"Yes, sir. You are going to write to me, aren't you Father?" Voldemort was taken aback.

"I might." Harish narrowed his eyes trying not to show his disappointment. Might always meant no.

Harish then turned and ran off to the train to find a compartment.

When the train started up, Voldemort almost raised his hand to wave, before he caught himself. No he would not wave to the boy. He would _not_!

Then, when he saw Harish poke his head out of the window to wave, he couldn't help it. Voldemort waved back. The Dark Lord grimaced as he saw the train disappear. This boy had turned him into an affectionate sap. He almost felt a hole inside as he walked out of the train station without the happy, bouncy boy he had gotten used to.

Almost.

_AWW—VOLDIE-BE-SWEET!_

Harish looked throughout the train but all of the compartments he passed were full. Finally he came to one that only had a pair of red headed boys that looked like twins. He heaved his trunk into the overhead railing in the compartment and sat down.

The boys turned around and looked inquisitively to Harish. "Who are you?" they asked in unison.

Did all twins do that?

"Harish Blake." He said properly as he held out his right hand and the one on the left took it and shook it roughly. Then the one on his right grabbed his left hand and shook it as well.

"Absolutely spiffing."

"Astoundingly wonderful to meet you old chap!"

When they didn't stop shaking his hands he twisted them out of the boys' grasps and wiped them on his shirt. _'These guys are weird…'_

The train started moving so Harish popped his head out the window and waved goodbye. He was astonished to see his father raise his hand in farewell, an almost-smile on the man's normally stern face.

"Who are you?" Harish asked them when he pulled his head back into the compartment.

"Fred and-" the one on the left said.

"George Weasley," the one on the right interrupted.

Harish nodded and looked out the window. His father was still standing there watching the train begin to pull out. "What house do you want to be in?" one of the twins asked; was it Fred?

"Slytherin," he said still not turning to look at them. He watched, still feeling rather dazed, as his father's small figure disappeared along with the platform.

"Man," Fred said.

"And I thought he was alright!" George finished elbowing his brother.

"Let us not get into old house rivalries. I'm guessing you would be hoping to be Gryffindors?"

"The whole family's been in it." Fred said solemnly.

What a shame. These were the first friendly people his age Harish has ever met. It just wouldn't do for them to be in rivalling houses. He had to hide a grin as he thought of their joking and mischievous manner. _'This would be too easy…'_

"Well you know," Harish began slyly, "It would be very amusing if your _whole family_ was in Gryffindor, but you two were sorted into its rival house. Imagine what they would do!" Having planted the seeds, Harish sat watching the twins as they pondered their family's reactions.

"You know old chap?" George asked.

"That would be a _wonderful_ prank!" Fred exclaimed.

"The three of us—"

"Could have loads of fun—"

"In the same house!"

Harish beamed. The twins then proceeded to tell him about their pranks that they had done over the years. After a while the trolley came by and Harish bought loads of sweets to share just because his father had never let him have many. The train ride mostly consisted of the twins sharing stories and joking about having to recruit Harish 'in the line of pranking duty.' Harish thought that the two of them were rather amusing.

At one point another red headed boy, this one slightly older and wearing horn-rimmed spectacles, poked his head in, trying to look dignified.

"All right there, Fred? George? You had best not get into trouble your first day." He said.

"All right Percy, we most definitely won't," they chorused together with angelic looks on their faces.

The older boy sniffed and walked out of their compartment.

"Who was he?" Harish asked.

"Percy—"

"He's a third year."

After the sky had begun to grow dark, they changed into their school robes and waited to pull into Hogsmeade station. When they got out they could see the castle and a large man strode up with a large lantern.

"Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" he called out. They followed the giant of a man with a wild beard and small, warm black eyes down a narrow path. Harish wondered who he was.

"No more'n four a boat!" the giant called, pointing at a fleet of little boats bobbing in the lake.

Harish and the twins climbed into the boat along with a boy who had dreadlocks. The giant, who had a boat all to himself, shouted, "Evr'y one in? All right! FORWARD!"

The boats then zoomed across the smooth lake and when they reached a cliff with ivy hanging down, he shouted, "Heads down!"

When they passed through, they could see a close up view of the castle. All of the first years ooh'd and aah'd at the magnificent sight.

They were lead along a dark, damp tunnel until they reached an underground harbour, where they climbed out. They walked along the dark corridor until they came to the grassy lawn and then finally, climbed up a flight of steps to a pair of large oaken doors. The giant raised a fist larger than Harish's whole head and knocked upon the great doors three times.

It was immediately opened by a witch in emerald green robes. She had a harsh, stern face with her black hair drawn up in a bun. She did not look like someone Harish would want to cross.

"First years?" she asked, receiving a nod, "I'll take them from here."

_ENTER-MCGONAGALL—WATCH OUT!_

Dumbledore sat in his seat in the Great Hall watching the first years file in. His eyes fell on a particular child with brown hair, handsome features, and pale green eyes.

Harish Blake was a complete mystery to him. When the boy had taken control of the Potter family account, he had been astounded. He had never heard of the Blakes, so he tasked some of his associates to find all the information they could about Harish Blake and his family.

He was even more startled when his men had only found records pertaining to that year, as if the Blakes had not existed before Harish had received his letter. False identities, perhaps? Albus made a mental note to look more into that train of thought. The records his associates had found informed Dumbledore that one Anata Blake had just applied for a job in the Wizarding World and his son Harish would be coming to Hogwarts that fall. It was as if they had appeared out of nowhere.

Ordinarily, Albus would not have been interested, but Harish Blake had somehow taken over the Potter family fortune, closing the account from his influence. What was truly strange was that the son controlled the account instead of the father. The boy seemed a bit young to have gained the full rights to a banking account.

Harish, being one of the first few called stepped up to the stool and slipped on the hat that covered his eyes. After a second the hat called out, "SLYTHERIN!"

A Slytherin was in charge of a whole Light family's fortune. The headmaster would certainly have to keep an eye on this boy.

_DUMBLEDORE'S-CONTROLLING—UH-OH_

Harish beamed, jumped up, and walked briskly over to the Slytherin table. He caught the twins' eyes and fighting off a smirk, sent them a thumbs up. Just then, an older boy rounded on him.

"Who are you?" he asked with a rather impolite tone.

"Harish Blake." He replied nonchalantly.

A boy named Henry Moon got sorted into Ravenclaw.

"Blake? I haven't heard of any Blakes around here."

"Oh, really? I guess you were too stupid to notice anything. Why, my family is very old—going far back, even to Slytherin's days." Technically that was true as he _was_ a descendant of Slytherin, but that was not something people would believe if he went about boasting it. Harish glared down his nose at the boy for a while but then turned his attention back to the sorting.

The older boy sat wondering how a child who was both younger and shorter than him could pull off such a look of superior disdain.

"Nott, Hortensia," McGonagall called out.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Pucey, Adrian."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Spinnet, Alicia."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Warrington, Hubert."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Weasley, Fred." Harish perked up at this. Fred sat down on the stool and jammed on the hat excitedly. After a few moments he started to look angry and then his expression changed to one of concentration.

Finally after a while, the hat called out, "SLYTHERIN!" and Fred hopped up looking pleased with himself and ran over to join Harish.

"Weasley, George."

"Oh fine; SLYTHERIN!"

"Great job mate!" Fred slapped him on the back as he sat down. They looked over at the Gryffindor table where Percy and another redhead even older than him were sitting with dumbfounded expressions.

"Look at their faces!" George exclaimed with glee.

"Percy looks like he's trying to decide whether he should be mad" Fred started, stroking a fake beard.

"Or confused." George added.

"So, who is that other fellow with him?" Harish asked.

"Charlie," Fred said.

"Sixth year," proclaimed George.

"How many brothers do you two have?"

"Four,"

"Or five counting me" Fred exclaimed.

"Oh I never count _you_. You're much too important to be a measly _brother_."

"Really? 'Cause—

"Guys!" Harish exclaimed.

"Yeees?" they asked together.

"Stop bantering and tell me about your brothers."

"Oh, well first there's Bill."

"He's graduated."

"Then there's Charlie,"

"World's best seeker—

"—Percy"

"The perfect one." They chorused together.

But suddenly the last person was sorted and they never did get to continue, for enormous amounts of food appeared, and no teenage boy could keep talking and ignore food when hunger had been gnawing at them all afternoon.

When everyone had eaten their fill Dumbledore gave the announcements, introducing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Blackthorn. Then they were ushered off to their dormitories in the dungeons.

Down, down, down they climbed until at last they reached their common room. There were green couches and the room had an underwater feel to it. The floors were black, and there was a fire crackling on the back wall. Dull light shimmered off of the walls and bounced around the room. They figured it was most likely under the lake. One boy swore he saw a giant, ghostly tentacle drift by a window. They went down to the boys dormitory and settled in for the night.

"_Master, I like it down here"_

"_So do I, Isis."_ He replied to his snake, starting to drift off into sleep.

"Whassat?" George asked.

"Nothing. Just telling my pet goodnight."

"Eh?" Fred asked groggily.

"Goodnight." And he rolled over and instantly fell asleep.


End file.
